Coping With Heartache
by Womble27
Summary: Kmeme prompt! How do the DA2 companions cope with stress and pain? Is it totally out of character for them? Shock! Horror! T for language it's mild, in my opinion, but eh
1. Chapter 1

Original Kmeme Prompt: How do Hawke and his/her companions react to extreme stress or pain? I'd like something a little more creative and personalised than sobbing, which tends to be the go-to method of demonstrating pain in fanfic.

Would Isabela give up on sex, or go so overboard that she becomes are caricature of herself? Does Aveline punch walls? Perhaps she spends time obsessively tending to her sword instead. Maybe Merrill is the one who becomes icy and withdrawn while Fenris is the surprise bawler.

I want a brief glimpse at how everyone (fails to) cope with their feelings.

Well, since you asked so nicely... :)

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

Six hearts broke all at the same time as they gazed down on the bed that contained the ruin of what used to be their friend. Yes, she had killed the Arishok in the end, but the horned brute had nearly destroyed her in the process.

Her face was gone, nearly obliterated under a layer of bruises that would take months to heal. Her left arm and right foot were broken, and the monster had crushed one of her lungs so that her every breath ended in a whistling gurgle. She had numerous cuts and scratches, and a new pink scar cut across the pale skin of her stomach where Anders had healed a gaping wound.

The healer was knelt by her bed, jittery from having consumed so many lyrium potions.

"There's nothing more I can do" he said, pulling himself to his feet "If Hawke is to pull through this now, she will have to it on her own. Go home, all of you. There's no sense in staying here."

"Blondie, are you sure?" Varric questioned.

"Yes Varric. I think we all need time to deal with this in our own way."

To that, the companions could only nod.


	2. Chapter 2

I) Aveline.

Disclaimer: Don't own any if it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

Donnic was not home when Aveline stormed into their house by the barracks. 'Good' she thought. She sank slowly into an armchair, allowing her head to fall back as her mind ran over the previous day.

Maker, what had she been thinking? She had let Hawke go up against that giant. Her best friend, and she had let her fight that... that... thing!

_'This is all my fault'_ she thought, guilt gnawing away inside her. _'Well. Not entirely' she amended. 'Most of it is the whore's fault. But still... I should've said something. We could've fought him together, I could've protected her, I-'_

With a shake of her head, Aveline quieted the voice in her head and did what she always did when she was upset. She reached for her blade and whetstone, and tried to let the rhythm of the familiar work soothe her. When the sword was sharp enough, she fetched a rag and began to polish the weapon methodically, removing any imperfections, the tiniest trace of rust.

She was still polishing an hour later when Donnic arrived home.

"Aveline?" he asked cautiously.

Ignoring him, she carefully folded the rag away as she finished her work. She held the sword up, gazing at the perfection of the blade. Then with a cry of disgust, she hurled it at the wall. Her head fell into her hands as Donnic came and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

_'I failed you'_ she thought. _'Hawke, I'm sorry, I failed you'._


	3. Chapter 3

II) Isabela.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

Isabela staggered into the Hanged Man. Her heart thumped erratically and her eyes searched wildly as she fought desperately to block out the terrible guilt that was clawing it's way up inside her. Her eyes alighted on the man near the bar. He was some kind of poet, and a bad one at that, but he had shown an interest in her from day one, and that was all that mattered now.

"You!" she barked at him, crossing the tavern in three strides. The man looked up at her, a slight look of fear flashing across his face. "Upstairs, with me, now."

"What, me?" the man squeaked.

"Yes, you" the pirate said irritably.

"What for?" the man asked suspiciously.

"A tea party" she said sarcastically. "What do you think for?"

The man's eyes widened as he got what she was driving at. "You mean...?"

"Maker, you're thick" she said to him, grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck and dragging him up the stairs after her. Anything, anything to make the guilt stop!

For the next hour, she screwed him upside down, back-to-front and sideways. She fucked him absolutely senseless and it still wasn't enough. The hollow ache in her chest never left, the terrible sense of guilt never went away. She didn't understand, sex had always worked before!

Disgusted with him, and with herself, she kicked the poet out of bed. "Get out!" she hissed at him.

"But!" the poor man protested, scrambling desperately for his clothes as she pushed him out into the corridor in his smalls.

"I said, get out!" she spat the words at him, slamming the door in his face.

Returning to her bed, she lay curled in a little ball, her knees drawn up to her chin.

Why hadn't that worked? She'd never really cared enough to feel guilty before, but the few times she had, a quick roll in the hay was usually enough to drown out her conscience.

Why not this time?

With a groan, Isabela rolled out of bed and crawled across the floor to a loose floorboard under which she'd hidden a bottle of port.

Well, there was still something to be said for getting absolutely shitfaced.


	4. Chapter 4

III) Merrill.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

The sky was achingly blue.

_'How dare it'_ Merrill thought. _'How dare the world be so beautiful on a day where Hawke might...might be...'_

A young elven boy on an errand to Hightown waved at her as she started down the steps to Lowtown. She glared at him, and the boy took a step back, looking slightly unnerved.

She didn't feel like herself. All of her anxiety over Hawke was transforming into anger, and this in turn made her even more angry. With her eyebrows drawn together in a deep scowl and her face as dark as a thunder cloud, Merrill set off towards the Alienage.

She was almost at her house when an elven woman came hurrying over to her from across the square.

"Merrill!" the woman exclaimed, relief painting her features. "You're alive! Thank the Maker! We had no idea- someone said they'd seen at the Keep during the attack... Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mara" Merrill said tightly. "Just... leave it. Please."

"But Merrill..."

"I said _leave it!_" Merrill snapped, stalking inside her house and slamming the door behind her, leaving the poor elf woman to stare after her in confusion.

Once inside, Merrill leant against the door, breathing heavily.

_'Oh lethallan...'_ she thought, her rage leaving her as anxiety returned to take it's place. _'Please. Pull through this..._


	5. Chapter 5

IV) Varric.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

"And then... I don't know, Hawke did some shit or other... I forget. Norah!" called the dwarf "Another ale!"

The serving woman glared at him, and swept off with a disapproving sniff.

"Uh... messere?"

"Yes my friend?"

"I think you should turn in for the night. You are very drunk..."

"Nonsense! NORAH!" Varric bellowed for the hundredth time that night. "Where's my ale?"

"Yell at me once more, dwarf, and best customer or not, I'll have you thrown out on your arse!"

"Bullshit Norah! Don't you know who I am? I am the best liar in the world, and I can always tell when someone's bluffing!"

"Best liar in the world? I think I might challenge you for that title, Tethras" hiccuped the already sloshed Isabela as she slid into the chair next to him.

"Nah, I win hands down, Rivaini. You may've lied to us for four years -nice work keeping that up, by the way" the dwarf said almost admiringly. "But you weren't the one who helped carry Hawke home. You weren't the one who said to her fully conscious face that everything was going to be ok and that she'd make it through this..."

He took a long swig of ale. "And she believed me!" he slurred. "See? Best liar in the world!" he said as his lower lip began to tremble.

"Awh, nugshit..." he declared. Right before he passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

V) Fenris.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

"Venhedis!" Fenris roared, throwing bottle after empty bottle at the walls of his mansion. "Fasta vass!" When the bottles were gone, he started on the furniture, overturning it and throwing it about the room.

Finally, he stood in the centre of the room, breathing heavily and staring at the devastation he had caused.

It brought him no pleasure. Instead, it sickened him, and with a strangled sob, he fell onto his bed and buried his face into the pillows as hot salty tears began to run down his cheeks. He hated the fact that he cried, but at least no one else was around to see his weakness.

_'Oh Hawke...'_ he thought sorrowfully. There was so much that had remained unsaid between them, and now it might be too late. They had never discussed what had happened that night, and now...

Fenris burrowed even further into his pillows as a fresh wave of sobs racked his body.

_'Please do not die Hawke'_ he thought. _'I couldn't bear it...'_


	7. Chapter 7

VI) Anders.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

"Messere?" He heard Bodahn's voice, calling him from slumber. He groaned slightly, and snuggled deeper into the Fade, pulling the blanket of sleep closer around him.

"Messere!" Bodahn's voice came again, more insistently this time. "You must get up! You have slept too long."

Anders growled a warning at the dwarf and tried to block out his voice.

"Messere!" poor Bodahn nearly shouted. "Please! Lady Hawke is awake!"

THAT woke Ander's up. He rose quickly to his feet, brushing the sleep from his eyes.

"Take me to her" he commanded the dwarf. Bodahn led him from the guest bedroom in which he had fallen asleep to the door of the master bedroom. Taking a deep breath, Anders opened the door and stepped inside.

Hawke was sat up in bed, propped up with dozens of pillows. She looked gaunt and pale, but her blue eyes still twinkled with mischief.

"Morning sleepy-head" she said, her voice surprisingly normal for someone who was nearly bludgeoned to death by a Qunari.

Anders coughed lightly at her joking implications. "Sorry" he smiled ruefully. "Sleeping is kind of what I do when I'm stressed."

"Why?" she asked him, genuinely curious.

"I don't know exactly" he said truthfully. "It's irrational, I know, but... I guess sleep is the one place where I feel safe."


	8. Chapter 8

VII) Hawke.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, all hail Bioware, yadda yadda...

Hawke smiled broadly at the healer, then winced as the muscles in her face protested.

"Are you all right?" Anders asked worriedly.

"I'm fine Anders" she replied gently. "I am thirsty though. Could you help me take some water?"

Anders nodded, and fetched a glass. He helped her sit up straight, and held the glass to her lips.

"Small, even sips" he warned her.

But she was too thirsty to listen to him, and instead she took great heaving gulps. She accidentally breathed some in, and she choked, spraying water all over her bed sheets as a rack of coughing overtook her. Every cough sent a wave of searing agony across her chest. She gasped from the pain, and tried not to blackout.

When the coughing subsided, she lay back on her pillows, a light sheen of sweat coating her green tinged face.

"Hawke? Are you all right?" Anders asked, his expression troubled. "Is there something I can do?"

"No, thank you" she replied, then smiled as a look if consternation crossed his face. "Anders" she said with a weak laugh. "I'm a healer too, remember? I know that no matter how much healing magic you pump into me, this is still going to hurt. Besides, I have my own ways of dealing with pain. Pass me that book over there, and the pencil next to it."

Nonplussed, Anders did as she requested, passing her the green leather-bound book that she kept next to her journal.

"It's a good thing that brute didn't break my other arm, or I'd be stuffed" she said past the pencil she had placed between her teeth as she turned the pages of the book with her good hand.

"What is that?" he asked curiously.

"My sketchbook, of course" came the bewildering answer.

She must've caught his befuddled look. "Anders, there's a reason Varric and I are such good friends. We both tell stories. Only he does it with words and I... I do it with pictures."

"So this is your method of combating pain?" he asked.

"I draw when I'm stressed" she explained, stopping on a page that showed the most exquisite drawing of a wolf. Anders could somehow tell that it was supposed to be Fenris.


End file.
